


Musician In The Streets- Still A Musician In The Sheets, Actually.

by gala_apples



Category: Bugs Potter - Gordon Korman
Genre: Loss of Virginity, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 14:42:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19022023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: There are only so many ways to distract Bugs Potter from a concert. Adam hits upon one of them.





	Musician In The Streets- Still A Musician In The Sheets, Actually.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the unsafe sex prompt for seasonofkink.

The fourth night they go out, they see Spoon Rest. It’s a nightmare of metal and synthesizer and trying to get Bugs out of the nightclub alive. It’s twelve thirty when Adam bolts down the street, hand clenched around Bugs’ bony wrist to pull him along. The blocks stretch for miles before they’re running through the underground parking garage. It’s an excruciating wait for the service elevator to descend, but finally they’re in the seventeenth floor hallway, jamming the key in the lock and slamming the door behind them.

Adam sinks to the light pink carpet and gasps for air. In a minute he’ll get up and fill himself a glass of water from the sink and lubricate his parched throat. For now, he just needs to fill his lungs and try to calm down.

As he sits, Bugs kneels in front of one of his fifty duffel bags and looks at something. Once he springs to his feet, he starts pulling on his collar so it’s against his nose. “What do you think? Change, or spray cologne?”

“You could just have a shower before you go to bed,” Adam points out. It’s not like the bassoon and violin players in the room next to them are going to rat them out to Darby for having a midnight shower.

“We’re not going to bed yet though,” Bugs says. He answers his own question next, muttering, “change, for sure,” and maybe a little bit of Adam is preoccupied with watching a cute boy his own age strip down in front of him, but the vast majority is extremely concerned with what Bugs has just said.

“We’re not? Do you... want to practice the sheet music?” he asks faux hopefully, already knowing he’s wrong.

“While I was in the bathroom at The Rock Pile, I heard this guy say Cat Claws was doing a late night show at The Pineapple, for those in the know only. But _we_ know!”

“No, Bugs-” Adam starts.

“If I had time, I’d play their newest album for you. We don’t though. I think we’ll have to take a taxi. The Pineapple’s kind of far away, I checked my map for the cross streets. It’s too bad. Ripped Those Curtains is such a good sophomore album, there’s this part where a panther-”

“Bugs, we can’t go out again. It’s so late, and I’m so tired, and each time we go out we’re risking getting caught.”

As usual, Bugs hasn’t heard a word he’s said. He’s just scooping up a fresh shirt from one of his suitcases and pulling it on. Adam is dismayed, but not surprised. But he’s also really, really not going to go back out at almost one am just to see more terrible rock music.

“I will do anything if we don’t go out, Bugs. Anything to making staying here worth it. You can teach me how to drum, make me listen to all your favourite tapes, play cards-”

“Fool around?” Bugs suggests. 

“What?” Adam protests, too weakly, too late, too feeble to sound anything but fake. “I’m not-”

“I think you are. It’s okay. I am too. I think most guys in the arts in high school are. At least, those are the only guys who I’ve been able to make out with at home. So instead of the ‘I’m not queer’ speech, can we just fool around?”

The psychedelic posters covering every inch of the wall seem to come into focus. The men on them are laughing at him, Adam can practically feel it. So much for being tidily closeted until getting into a liberal college. He can’t say anything, he’s frozen.

Bugs sinks into a squat in front of Adam, impressive belt buckle cutting into his stomach as he comes into Adam’s space. “Look. I’m about to go out, listen to my favourite band and feel the music in my bones and the energy in the crowd. Unless you’d rather fuck me. Or was all that handholding and long looks stuff bullshit?”

He could abdicate responsibility and go to bed, letting Bugs fend for himself. He could go out a second time, and try to do rehearsal on three hours sleep. Or he could let himself experience what he’s always thought about, with a boy who doesn’t even live in the same country as him. It’s the safest way to be with a guy Adam’ll ever have, no way for anyone at home to find out about what he’s done.

It takes all the courage Adam has to say, “take your jeans off.”

Bugs breaks into a wide grin, the way he does walking into a club. He bounds over to the bed and throws himself onto it backwards, only to bounce up off it immediately. Bugs starts to peel his jeans off, not an easy feat when they’re already tight and he’s soaking with sweat. Adam joins him in the endeavour, wondering how he must smell to another guy. He sure the hell can smell Bugs. It’s weird how it’s not a turn off.

“No need to talk about who’s putting what where. Let’s just both lay on the bed and finger ourselves.”

“You have lube?” Bugs brought like twelve suitcases, and between the cassettes and vinyl albums and explosives and posters Adam gets it, but he never would have guessed lube as one of the things to come out of the bag. 

“You’d be surprised at what the right angle with a drum stick can do to a guy.”

Oddly enough, Adam isn’t surprised. It makes sense that Bugs would figure out a way to include drumming in every facet of his life. He’s Bugs Potter, after all.

Fingering himself with another person in the room is the most sexual thing Adam’s ever done. Adam has his feet planted on the hotel mattress, his right hand stretched beyond his balls to fuck his own ass. Bugs’ position to do the same shows the inexhaustible energy he has. Both his legs are in the air, knees almost at his chest, and he’s coming in from the side. Adam really wants to get a drum stick from the dresser and ask Bugs for a show, but he can’t bring himself to. Requests are too intimate, despite what they’re actually doing.

Eventually, when they’re both two or three fingers wide, Bugs speaks up. “One of us should fuck the other, right? It’s like a concert, you only get so many opportunities so you have to make the most of the ones you have.”

“You fuck me,” Adam replies instantly. 

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been wanting to try it, but I guess Winnipeg has a better gay scene than Boston.” Or maybe he’s just shyer.

“Awesome. Only I don’t have any condoms. I didn’t think I’d get that far. Is that okay with you?”

Adam would like to blame his rapid agreement on not wanting Bugs to get dressed and resume going out if they don’t have sex. But that’s not it. Adam just really likes the idea of being full of another guy’s come.

It’s vulnerable, putting his legs on Bugs shoulders. He’s displayed now in a way he’s never had a chance to practice. Musicians like practice. Like repetition. Like striving for the minute details that tweak a song into perfection. But in this case Adam has to follow Bugs ‘seize the day’ stance on life. He’s not getting this home, ever. So why not in Toronto?

Bugs pushes into him with an insistent motion, like a note on a cymbal. Adam can’t stop the grunt that exits him. Which is saying something, because Adam’s spent the last four days practicing breath control. For a minute he regrets this choice, and maybe everything leading up to it too. Bugs, however, is unwilling to let that stay the case. He’s the best drummer in Canada, according to the last four days. He’d rather go straight to hell than demonstrate bad rhythm. And the thing about fucking is it turns out to be all about rhythm. Once Bugs has the sheet music of Adam’s body, he knows exactly how to play it.

The sex doesn’t last long. Unsurprising, considering their ages and hormone levels. One thrust Bugs is causing him one of the most intense pleasures of his life. The next Adam is spurting over his own chest. And that must cause some interesting inner contortions, because twenty seconds later Bugs is having his own orgasm. Bugs fills him like a jelly doughnut, fills him from the centre to the rim with his white cream. It’s disturbing, how good that feels. God only knows how long it’ll be until Adam’s second lover, but he’s already certain he’ll ask him for this.

“That was awesome. You’re The Most.”

Adam smiles. He feels like The Most right now. He won’t at breakfast time, when sleep deprivation will be gnawing at him, but for tonight it’s good.

“Darn. You win, I guess. We’re too late to see Cat Claw. It’ll be over before we got there.”

Because Adam likes Bugs, has for a day or two now, and especially now that he’s got come leaking out of his asshole, no matter how tight he clenches, he tells Bugs the truth. “No it wouldn’t. We’d be fine. That was only like ten minutes.”

“No, it’s fine. This once we can skip a favourite group to bask in telling the normies to piss off, this is the music in my queer little heart.”

It’s only then that Adam realizes Bugs’ reply is an act of caring too. It’s possibly the strongest act Bugs can commit, to say _you are more important than a concert_. Future lovers might cook him dinner, or cover their bed in rose petals, or bring him to meet the family. Bugs is blowing off a one am exclusive show, and Adam will never forget it.


End file.
